5SOS one shots (boys x Reader)


22. PillowTalk

I’m lost in empty pillow talk again


This bed’s an island made of feather down, and I’m stuck here alone
With little else but memories of you, on memory foam

“Do you know what, um, sucks most? About, like, touring?” Ashton asks, eyes fluttering shut as he brings his free arm’s forearm to cover his eyes.    


Dunno. What?” comes her voice on the other end of the line. Her voice is so sweet, so melodic, so nice. 


“This,” Ashton sighs. “Like, it just. It – fucking sucks, you know? I just, like. I wish you were here and that ’m not here all alone and wishing that I could feel what it’s like to have you next to me again. Like. Maybe it’s a little better on the bus – because the bunks are so fucking small and, like, the boys are literally a meter or two away from me. But then. When we’re in hotels, it’s different – 'cos we’ve got enough cash to get our own rooms, now, yeah?” She hums on the other end of the line. “Right, and. Well. It’s lonely, and it’s a hotel bed, and all I can think about when I’m in this hotel bed, alone, is how you and I – we fit, you know? Like. I’m so fucking sad and lonely because I'm – alone in this bed and, it’s so dumb, but. It’s… s’natural, sleeping with you. Literally sleeping, too. Not, like. Sex. Even though the sex is great.”   


Y/N sputters on the other end of the line, “‘s the sex, innit?S’why you stay?” She drawls out sarcastically and Ashton can hear the smile in her voice. It’s instantly got him smiling, giggling, even, as he lifts his forearm away from his eyes to grin at the bare ceiling like a right mental individual. “But, um. Yeah. I, uh, I know. Like, I really fucking miss you, yeahBut I’m okay, I’m doing okay, because ’ve got the memory of you, of how you feel when you’re sleeping next to me and. And that’s as good as it’ll get, really, but I’m alright with that.”   


Ashton’s smile has slipped off his face, but he’s not angry or summat. He’s just, thinking. He’s thinking. He’s staring at the ceiling because if he shuts his eyes, he sees her face and he misses her, fuck – he misses her so much – and seeing her face isn’t doing him any good, really. But his mind doesn’t stop thinking about what she’s said and he breathes out a slow, steady breath.    


“How did I get so lucky?” is all he ends up asking, not really looking for a reply because that’s all he wants to know. How the hell did he get so lucky, as to get this girl – this amazing, amazing girl who’s everything Ashton has always wanted in a girl, everything he ever needed, even if he didn’t know it.   

What did he do in a past life to get him this beautiful and near perfect human being?


This room’s become a mausoleum, filled with relics of regret
Paying dues to every moment wasted, on words left unsaid
Collisions of a finer love, I’d kill for one more way
To tell you how you make me better every day

“– m'sorry, yeah?”   


“S'okay, love,” Ashton assures her, his lips twitching up in amusement. “Not your fault that you’ve got a shit load of work to do, yeah? I’ll leave you it. Text me before you go to bed or summat.”   


But I might be going to bed at, like, five in the morning. Don’t wanna bother you. Maybe you’ll be in an interview or summat and – ”   


“I don’t care,” Ashton interrupts smoothly. “Text me, alright? If I’m in an interview then I won’t text you back, obviously, but I still want one before you go to bed. Mostly because I wanna make sure that you actually go to bed because I know what you’re like and going without sleep and surviving off of energy drinks and coffee is not healthy.”   


Well. I mean.”   


“Don’t even try,” he laughs lightly. “Right, ’m hanging up now because I’m probably keeping you away from your work, so. Goodbye, I miss you, I love you.”   


Y/N breathes a laugh on the other end of the line, “Love you too, Ash,” and then the call’s cut and Ashton’s pulling his phone away from his ear as he slumps back on the leather seats.    


He’s in the back lounge, alone, since the boys usually let him have the back lounge whilst they’re moving so that he can talk to Y/N for as long as he wants. He’s the only one with a girlfriend and, like. None of them have lived through the whole “having a girlfriend whilst on tour” thing, so none of them can really comprehend the special sort of ache in his heart that never seems to dwindle away. They understand missing family, but family's family and a girlfriend is, well, a girlfriend, and it’s different, somehow.    


Ashton glances around the back lounge. He’s spent so much time in this place, most of those times being whilst he was on the phone with her. It’s, like. There’s nothing particularly special about the back lounge, nothing distinctive and identifiable, but he can pair every small stain and crack with a different memory.    


There’s a small scratch on the leather lounge that he’s currently sat on, and that was from when he and Y/N had this argument. He doesn't remember what it was about, really, but all he does remember is that is sucked so much and he felt like crying every moment she was mad at him – every moment he was mad at her. 


There’s this chip, on the wall, from when he’d chucked a remote or something at it after he’d hung up this other time. Y/N was having one of her bad days – where she breaks down and asks things that he’ll never be able to answer properly, because they’re questions like “why are you with me?” and “I’m not anything special, why are you waiting around for meWhy aren’t you dropping me and sleeping with groupies or dating gorgeous American models or summat?” and he still feels like a part of him dies whenever he recalls her saying things like that.   


He’s told her, time and time again, that she makes him better. She doesn’t even have to do anything – she just makes him better because she makes him want to be a better person. Ashton doesn’t want to be the kid he was, back before he even knew Michael or Luke or Calum. He never wants to be that kid again, even though he used to have his extremely dark days where he’d be tempted to turn into that kid again. But he doesn't – he doesn’t because of her. Because of Y/N.    


She makes him better, every day, in every fucking way.  


If these sheets were the states, and you were miles away,
I’d fold them end over end to bring you closer to me.
Because I don’t sleep at all without you pressed up against me.
I settle for long distance calls, I’m lost in empty pillow talk again.


Ashton can’t sleep. Which really bloody sucks because they’ve got a full day filled with press and radio interviews and a concert at night. But he can’t sleep, and he’s got to be up at five a.m., and it’s nearing two right now.   


He bites back a groan, exhaling slowly and in the most frustrated manner that he’s ever exhaled a breath before.    


He winds up picking up his phone before he’s almost rolling out of his bunk – catching himself in time before he falls since he doesn't want to wake anyone else – and heads into the back lounge. No one’s there, of course no one’s there, so he’ll have full privacy. Goes to his contact book, clicks on her name and then the FaceTime portion.    


Y/N’s face fills up his screen a couple of rings later, and she’s got half her face pressed into a pillow, one eye shut as she grins lazily at the camera. “Hello Tarzan.”   


Ashton scoffs, running his fingers through his hair, “Tarzan,” he scoffs again. “Please.”   


Your hair’s getting long, babe. Way too long.”   


“I like it,” he pouts, ruffling his hair. “The fans like it, too. I think. I dunno.”   


I like it, too,” she reassures him, smiling sweetly as she moves – sitting up instead and then holding her phone in front of her. “But ’m just saying, yeahWon’t be too disappointed if you cut your hair.”   


Ashton rolls his eyes, “Good, because ’m not cutting it. I like it.”   


O-kayI never said you had to cut it,” she defends herself, laughing now.    


“Yeah, well,” he says stubbornly, eyes narrowing as he bites on his bottom lip to contain the smile that wants so badly to make itself known. “You implied it. You and mum,” Ashton snorts, “Both telling me it’s time for a haircut. I’m a twenty year old man. I will do what I want, thank you very much.”   


Do what you want,” Y/N mumbles under her breath, rolling her eyes. “That is such a lie. I’d bet if she really did, like, force you to get a hair cut, you’d do it without fighting back. Mummy’s boy.”   


“You know what – goodbye,” he scoffs.   


Bye,” she laughs cheerily, even waving at him.    


“Don’t,” he’s quick to say because, well. He obviously doesn’t want her to hang up, does he? Ashton’s smiling now, though, eyes near sparkling with an overflowing amount of fond as he looks at on-screen her, still slightly giggling at him. “What’re you doing, babe?”   


Nothing important,” she shrugs her shoulders. “I should be asking that question, though. ’s, like, two a.m., yeahOver there?"    


"Yeah,” Ashton heaves a sigh. “Can’t sleep,” he mumbles sulkily.   


Aw, babe,” comes her voice, and she’s frowning now. “WhyWhat’s happened?”   


“Nothing, nothing,” he reassures her quickly. “’s just. Miss you, is all. Was, uh, looking through our pictures together earlier and, like. I dunno. Kind of remembered how nice it felt to sleep with you pressed up against me, you know? Like. It kind of, um, reassures me? Yeah, reassures me that you're real and my Y/N and stuff. ’s stupid, but – ”   


’s not stupid, babe,” Y/N interrupts him with a soft smile. “I get it. Really. It’s easier, innitGoing to sleep with your… your person near you so you know that they’re not, like, a figment of your imagination or summat.”   


“Yeah,” he smiles weakly, “Exactly.” Ashton pauses then, just looking at her. She’s looking back at him, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch her – reconfirm that she's actually a real person. But he can’t. “Wish teleporting was a thing. Or, like. If I could fold a map or, like, my sheets, or summat, and then you’d travel with how I folded the thing.”   


Not long now, Ash,” Y/N smiles. “Not long till you’re back and we’ll be together again, yeah?”   


“Yeah,” Ashton echoes shakily with a nod. “Not long now.”   


- - -   


See, thing is: Ashton’s literally the human embodiment of sunshine. But. When he’s having a bad day (not, like, relapse kind of bad day, just a literal bad day), he is literally the worst person ever in existence. The boys are used to it – they are best mates, after all, but everyone else tends to avoid him, when he’s having his “I want to kill you, and you, and if you stare at me for longer than three seconds I am literally going to punch you in the face” sort of days.    


He’s a bit scary, okay? Even he can admit to that.    


It’s just. His day started out bad, because he realised that he forgot to turn on the fucking switch so his phone was plugged in but not charging, and since everyone knows how shit iPhone batteries are, his is dead. He could just charge his phone in the dressing room or summat, but he can’t because their day is packed with interview after interview after interview and they’re never at the same place so he’s never able to plug his phone in and let his phone turn back on.   


Then, at one point, he realises that he needs lessons on how to walk because he fucking tripped over his own foot and it still hurts – hours after the fall. He reckons he landed on it wrong and it’s fucked up, but not fucked up enough to be considered as a sprain or summat, but whatever.   


And, like. They had this acoustic thing, yeah? He’s usually all bubbly and shite, answering most of the questions, cracking jokes and stuff. He was doing that – he’s getting good at putting on the façade – but then he messed up on practically every song and he never messes up that many times. He messes up sometimes, yeah, usually just one or two songs, and they’re usually on the actual drum kit and not the cajon but – today is just not his day.   


“Fucking – shit. Stupid cajon, stupid phone, stupid ankle – fucking fuck shit – ” he mumbles under his breath bitterly as he yanks the bus door open as best as he can because this shit is heavy as hell. The boys are following behind him, probably ready to catch him if he falls because he’s practically limping because of how much his ankle is killing him.   


He almost stomps into the bus – only to freeze. His eyes are wide, transfixed on the human being sat on the lounge, casually watching the tele. “Oh, hey, Ash,” she says casually. So fucking casual. And Ashton’s still frozen in place, eyes transfixed on this girl and. 


“What the fuck,” Ashton breathes out under his breath. “What. The. Fuck.” And then before his brain can even process what his feet are doing, he’s walked right towards her and she’s stood up sometime between his steps towards her and then he's yanking her into his arms and burying his face into the crook of her neck and suddenly nothing hurts anymore.    


Ashton’s arms wrap around her, so tightly that he’s half afraid he might hurt her, but then she’s just hugging him back even tighter and he literally cannot find it in himself to give two shits about the fact that his bandmates and tour manager are staring at him, cooing over them ridiculously, most likely trying to embarrass him. He feels Y/N let out a breathy laugh, but then he feels a drop of water against his skin and he just hugs her tighter, choking out a laugh that sounds pretty pathetic but he’s so happy that he's crying and he wants to laugh and cry and. Emotions. Lots of emotions running through him right now.    


He pulls back, both hands cupping either side of her face and his grin is so brilliant that it could probably cheer up even the most bitter souls. “How long are you here for?” He asks, voice hushed, though there’s no need for it to be because they’re alone now and him and Y/N are standing so close that their toes and chests touch.    


“'til you get sick of me,” Y/N smiles at him and Ashton can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of his mouth.   


“S'never gonna happen. Which means you’re gonna be here, like, forever, innit?” He beams, positively beams at her. And when Y/N chuckles so fondly at him, he leans down and presses his forehead up against hers. “Everything’s gonna feel normal again. ’s finally gonna feel… feel okay again.”   


“Well. Everything except for your ankle, yeah? Because, like. I reckon it’s pretty fucked up since you never limp and shite, no matter how much it might hurt. I mean. How’d you even manage that?”  

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